Carlton ✔

✦| Prologue

I grew up having literally anything a human would possibly want.

They warned me. "Son, it'll take a toll on you one day." And I would shrug their irrelevant, small-minded banter away because I didn't know the pain of not being able to attain something...or someone.

Most people would look at me and scoff — what could this guy possibly know about the struggles that humanity faces? And while I might be in no position to answer that question, I have seen and done things that most people would only read about.

My memories are a blur, but from time to time, a particular feeling gushes through my body. Do you know what I'm talking about?

That familiar pain in the pit of the stomach.

An unrecognizable pulse in the throat.

A bizarre weightlessness of the body, no, of the soul.

Sometimes, I would cry when I feel it.

Was this feeling attached to something traumatic? I would never know. But I didn't want to know either.

I had everything I've ever wanted and I would get it with a snap of my fingers.

Snap. "I want to watch a movie."

Several footsteps would scurry through the doorstep of this massive mansion, which I called my home.

A face of a tired, weather-beaten butler would appear, "Yes, Master Carlton? What would you like to watch today?"

"Just put something interesting."

"Yes Master, I shall pick out one of the biggest blockbusters right away! Would you like to eat something? Or maybe...read something while I'm at it?"

"Yes, I'm in a mood for some fries today."

"Coming right away, Sir."

And the butler would jog away, hoping to get done with his job as quickly as possible so he wouldn't anger me.

I thought that he must have hurt his right feet somewhere. Maybe he was limping. But again, what was the need to think about issues I wouldn't have noticed anyway?

How would I know?

How would I know what the poor go through?

I lived my days never wanting to do anything, and I think that's just because I could do anything I wanted.

And somehow that bored me.

And most of the time, that boredom was followed by the same miserable feeling — like I remembered something and my brain just didn't want to think about it, so I only felt it.

Snap. "What the hell is taking you so long?!"

"I'm deeply sorry, Sir! I...I...burned my hand on the..."

But would I have cared to listen to the entire statement? No. I was arrogant enough to shut him up the instant he tried to reason his mistake.

It was their job to serve me.

Some weary days, the snap of my own fingers would scare me. I knew of the power I possessed, the command I had over the hundreds of guards and butlers that worked for me.

And maybe, just maybe, I was afraid to not be able to feel that power anymore?

But again, I wouldn't think about that.

Because I didn't care.

I had everything I ever wanted.

I didn't need anyone to tell me what to do, I didn't need anyone to help me; I had hundreds of people who would kill for me anytime. I didn't need to appreciate anybody's existence to be able to live a certain way.